Bittersweet Disaster
by Anonymous.Publishers
Summary: In this suspense romance, House and Cuddy find themselves in a new situation, where they have to fight for their lives as an early storm takes a challenge on them.
1. Evident Signs

_2:00am - Evident signs_

The clouds swept through the sky in vast patches of gray. The wind had picked up in increasing amounts of speed every hour. A storm was undoubtedly approaching.  
With the whole team barely coherent, all of them falling asleep in the middle of the differential, House was feeling fairly frustrated. So he gave in, and let them all go home for the night.

"Go home. Rest up. Come back, ready to work your asses off."

They all dragged themselves off of the table and prepared to go home. They all made it out of there fairly quickly. House limped back into his inner office and began to pack up his own things. Suddenly he heard a slow pace of stilettos coming down the corridor. Cuddy past by his office, stopped abruptly and looked in, before actually walking in.

"You're still here?" she asked quietly.  
"You shouldn't be surprised. What's surprising, is that _you're_ still here."  
"I took up more hours. How's the patient?"  
"She's happy as a dog."  
"Oh, you discharge her?"  
"Oh, you meant medically. Well medically, she's screwed."  
"Of course."  
"We're picking it up tomorrow."  
"Of course you will." She sighed and began to walk out.  
"Why are you still here?" She stopped dead at the door, refusing to turn around.  
"Hours."  
"Right. You'd rather spend countless hours at work, not only countless but some useless, than to be at home attempting to be even remotely close to being a good mom to the little bastard." She turned to look at him. Tears didn't fill her eyes, and anger didn't fill her expression.  
"Do you hate her, House?" he was a little shocked at her retort. The fact that she didn't walk out, nor tear up, meant--something.  
"I'm stating the truth. Was she born in a marriage, no. You pretend that she's this angel that God sent you. I'm telling you the blunt truth, it doesn't mean I hate her."  
"Right."

She gave a skeptic nod, looked away and walked out of there. House just bowed his head, and turned off his light.  
Slipping on his jacket and grabbing his cane, he walked out of there. He made his way into the elevator, and approached the ground floor. But he didn't leave. He headed for her office as he saw a flooding rain outside. Prominent streaks of lighting struck the Earth, emanating from the dark, dark clouds that swallowed the sky.  
As he approached the second pair of doors to her office, he stopped dead, looking through them, he saw her working, in soft tears. They streamed down her face, like the droplets of rain sliding down her windows. He twisted the handle, opening the door softly. Coming on gentle.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.  
"I'm working. Go home."  
"You're working, and crying."  
"I work. I cry. Yes, these are things I'm capable of." She refused to look up as he took a seat in front of her desk.  
"What'd you want, House. It's late."  
"You could've started crying back in my office. You've, cried in front of me several times before. Nor did you cry--but you didn't get upset. You didn't get angry. You didn't bother with a comeback. Why."  
"You've said a lot of crap to me before, House. I've come to certain grounds that it's pointless to argue with you when you'll want to continue the argument anyway. Frankly--it wastes both our time."  
"Why you choose to hide your tears?"  
"It wouldn't have mattered."  
"It matters to me." then her head shot up.  
"Why do you care whether or not I cry in front of you or not, either way it makes no difference to you, because you play the damn thing over and over again. I know you think she's a bastard. I know you think my objectives as a mother are poor. I don't need to be reminded of it every time." she looked at him wide eyed, with her face partially damp. He just looked at her with no response for about a minute.  
"So you're upset--because I refer to her as what she is?"  
"She's my daughter, House. For once, I'd like you to accept that. Please."  
"I have. But it just makes no sense to me of why you would cry out of my sight. You never cared before. Now you do?"  
"It hits me after we talk, of how much an insufferable jerk you are."  
"That's what I was looking for. And if it's any consolation, that hurt."  
"Good."  
"And if this is any consolation--that was one of the simple comebacks you've come up with that had effect."  
"It's not." she laughed.  
"I'm sorry." She sighed and shut her eyes.  
"I know."  
"So seriously--why haven't you checked out of here yet?"  
"Hours."  
"Still going with that?"  
"Yep."  
"Right." Suddenly, nurse Brenda entered Cuddy's office.  
"Dr. Cuddy, I just wanted to let you know that they've issued a tornado warning for our area. Oh, are you okay?"  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Uh, are you sure?"  
"Yeah. We've got good chances here. I just saw it on the news."  
"Alert everyone and anyone left in the building." Brenda gave a nod, and walked out of there. House returned his face to Cuddy who had a worried look on her face.  
"I should call Stephanie."  
"Babysitter?" he asked.  
"Yeah--chances are she's asleep on the couch. She doesn't know what's going on."  
"That's some babysitter."  
"She's got the monitor out, she's done it before. I just hope she picks up--" Cuddy was pressing the phone tight against her ear as she dialed the digits.  
"You want me to pick her up?" he asked meekly.  
"No--it's too bad out there. Why isn't she picking up her phone."  
"It's only rung twice, give her a bit."  
"Three. Four. Five. And, now my voicemail."  
"What's her cell?"  
"Why?"  
"You have a better chance of her answering it. It's either in her pocket or somewhere relatively close. Keep calling home, what's her cell?"  
"Two, zero, one. Five, nine, six. Zero, eight, seven, three. It's pointless--the phone probably won't be able to get signal."  
"Wanna bet?" he asked her as he dialed his cell. He then pressed it to his ear as it rang twice, before Stephanie sleepily answered.  
_"Hello?"_  
"Stephanie, this is Dr. House. Dr. Cuddy needed me to call you, there's a tornado warning on the news. Turn on the tv. It's practically targeted at Princeton. I'm coming to get Rachel--" Cuddy's face got angry, and nearly cut him off.  
"If I can't--go hide in the empty pantry in her basement. No windows, so you two should be fine. I'll try to get there as fast as I can." he waited a second, and then hung up his phone.  
"If you go out there, you'll kill yourself."  
"Should have bet on the phone thing--and it's not even bad yet. I'm leaving now, before it can get bad." Suddenly a bright flash of lightning illuminated the sky, lighting up the entire hospital before all the lights shut off. Both House and Cuddy were in practically pure darkness. They could only recognize faded silhouettes.  
"House?"  
"Yeah?"  
"How much more worse were you expecting this to get?"  
"Relatively close to this."


	2. Glasses of Bourbon

Cuddy was lying on her couch in darkness, waiting for House to return. It had already been twenty minutes after he had left for Rachel, and she was beginning to worry. She looked up at the ceiling, paying close attention to the detail, averting her mind from the terrible thoughts that seemed to creep. To calm herself, she finally got up, and slowly moved towards her desk, and bent down. She opened a compartment in her desk, and grabbed to what appeared to be a glass, and a jug of bourbon.  
She stood up, closing the compartment with her foot, and began to walk back to the couch.  
She set the glass down onto her table, and strained her eyes to make sure she could pour it into the glass. After a couple sips, the door opened. A drenching wet House was holding something wrapped in his jacket, along with his helmet on it's head.

"Is she okay?" Cuddy asked getting up.  
"She just fell asleep, if you wake her up I will have to kill you." he said breathless and shivering. He walked Rachel over to the couch, and laid her down still covered in his jacket. Then Cuddy took off the helmet, held it in her hand as she glared at House.  
"You-picked-her-up-with-your-_bike_?"  
"And kept her safe. What a great father I could be." he uttered sarcastically.  
"She wasn't in a proper car seat, and you could've killed the both of you! What'd you do, stuff her in your backpack along with your cane?"  
"I kept her between my legs. She's older--and she's bigger. She fit perfectly fine in front of me. And it's nearly three am, no one's driving around here then." he was completely drenched. His hair had become matted and clumped together, his sky blue shirt had become even darker, and drops streaked down his face.  
"Is that bourbon?" he asked her.  
"There's a glass in my--"  
"I know, bottom right cabinet. I was actually asking you."  
"Yeah, it'd be a waste to drink this alone." she said. He then walked over and quickly grabbed a glass, pouring some for himself. He sat back down with her on the edge of the couch, to leave some wiggle room for Rachel. The lightning and thunder continued to boom, and crack outside. Rain lashed on the windows as the wind howled and cursed.

"Now, I'm curious. Why would you stow away, you being the administrator, an entire jug of bourbon along with glasses in your desk?"  
"You have bourbon, scotch, whiskey, vodka and a chardonnay stowed away in _your_ desk, along with an extra flask."  
"Celebratory reasons."  
"Likewise." she retorted.  
"No, see, let's think about this. Theoretically, the dean and administrator, are always in control. Not of just the hospital, but also themselves. Now there are only two reasons why someone like you--would keep extra stuff at hand. It's either, you're secretly an alcoholic, that hasn't gone out of control yet--or stress." he had that glint in his eye. Even in the darkness, it stuck out as he stared her down.  
"First of all--not an alcoholic. Occasional drink, yes, to the point where I can't walk, no. Second of all--"  
"You're not stressed, yeah spare me the speech."  
"I keep it, for celebratory reasons."  
"Right. Because _that_ sounds like you. YOU'RE STRESSED." he said boldly, getting in her face.  
"Why would I be stressed?" she asked him.  
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you. First the hours--then the crying? Now this. Come on, we both know something's eating at you."  
"Leave it alone House. I'm not an alcoholic, and I'm not stressed." she finished off her second glass, and went to pour her third as House analyzed her.  
"Now, judging by the taste--this hasn't been there for long. Maybe--a month. Tops. A month ago--what happened a month ago..."  
"House. Stop."  
"A month and a HALF ago you had a boyfriend of three months."  
"Yes, Nathan broke up with me."  
"Yeah. But that kind of thing doesn't stress you out. Never has never will. So there's more to that." he paused, tilting his head this way and that before he looked at her again.

"He broke up with you. Something happened two weeks later. It's obviously kept you stressed this whole month--guilt. You resort to alcohol. Not constant, but enough to drown out the guilt. The hours--avoiding home? No. Rachel? Guilt, Rachel--you asked me if I hated her. You know I don't, and you asked anyway--guilt? Again? Not towards Rachel--kids." She looked directly at him. She had a feeling he knew, so she gave him a look, saying he was right. He stopped talking for about a minute, before making his conclusion.

"He knocked you up." he uttered, with a sense of sincerity in his voice. He continued.  
"Knowing that he was going to break up with you, he decides guilt sex. It's impulsive, it's out of nowhere. You two hadn't been--for a month. So you stopped taking the pill. Condom breaks, Nathan jr. comes along after he's already left you. Abortion after two weeks--and you've been guilt ridden since." she sighed, and bowed her head to the floor. She smirked, looking back up at him.

"Are you satisfied?" she asked defensively.  
"No." he retorted.  
"You want me to go in detail? Because I think you captured all the important aspects and details to my diagnosis--"  
"You did the right thing." he finally said, cutting her off. She gave him a skeptical look, before talking again.  
"Then why do I feel so guilty? I killed an innocent child--"  
"Fetus."  
"An actual person. I _killed_ it, House."  
"You killed no one. It wasn't a person. It's a fetus that was developed two weeks."  
"A living thing inside me, House. I saw the sonogram. I was there, and I saw it. Beautiful living--"  
"A beautiful living thing is sitting right behind you. What was in your uterus, was fetus. It had no arms, or legs, or eyes. No organs, nothing. It was basically a parasite. You wanna talk about kids, take a look at yours. You may not be able to suckle the kid, and she may not even look that much like you--"  
"Not that much?"  
"I'm indifferent. But she's your daughter. Biologically? No. Legally yes. Morally yes. You will raise her like your own, no matter how hard people tell you otherwise. Because you're an annoyingly stubborn and subjective woman, characteristics of which you will rub off on her. And she'll be a pain in the ass for me too. Relatively close to your rank." Cuddy smiled and almost smirked. House turned to look at Rachel, and then back at Cuddy.

"Don't put yourself in fault when you think you've killed your child. You killed a parasite. Nothing more." he just looked at her as he threw back the remaining in his glass. He continued as he set his glass back down onto the table.  
"And, Nathan is a bitch's name." he stated with a smile. Cuddy smiled back, and that's when Brenda had returned again.

"Dr. Cuddy? We finally got a way to keep updated with the storm."  
"Any new news?"  
"It's just getting worse. We've been put on tornado watch."  
"Thank you Brenda." she walked out and Cuddy just looked at him.  
"Tornado watch." she uttered with slight fear in her voice.  
"A lot of people are going to die if it hits us."  
"If not, it'll be a miracle."  
"Yeah, that's like us to happen. Disaster outweighs miracle a lot." he said with a sigh. Cuddy just smiled at him.  
"For us it doesn't."


	3. First Complications

With half the jug of bourbon gone, a child fast asleep on the couch, and Cuddy sitting on the floor, this morning had lapsed into a lazy silence between them. The storm was worsening as the dark clouds gathered together.  
With the hospital machines on back up generators, trying to keep the patients in stable conditions no matter what they had, things were going roughly well. The only problem at the moment was evacuating everyone to lower parts of the building. With all the patients in stairwells, some labs in the basement, lower level bathrooms and just the windowless rooms, nearly everyone had made it to a fairly safe area--except the staff, House and Cuddy.  
Tonight was a perfect night to actually be short staffed, given the fact that they had limited places to hide, finding the concern of the patients first before themselves. Some of them had joined the patients, others went separate ways.  
Cuddy was just waiting for House to return. He had gone for his office for his stowed away food in case a situation like this happened. Coming down the stairs into the main lobby, the brightest flash of lightning occurred, shortly followed by a bomb of thunder. This bolt of lightning had been very close to Princeton-Plainsbro. If it wasn't, then the hospital wouldn't have shaken with terror after the blow.  
The walls of the hospital shook, and so did the stairs House had been on, and he came tumbling down a flight of stairs due to loss of balance. As he came down, screams, loud noises of things collapsing occurred from everywhere. They all stopped moments after. Rolling onto the floor of the lobby he groaned in pain. Getting up slowly, and picking up the bag of food, he cautiously walked back to the clinic. Entering, he vaguely saw from a distance the mess of it all. Including Cuddy's office. He saw a few things knocked over here and there. But as he walked closer to the office, he heard Rachel crying her eyes out and Brenda in a frenzy on the floor. A flashlight was lighting a part of the room, then he saw it. The large shelf in the office had come down. Walking slower, but closer, he saw Cuddy stuck underneath. He rushed inside.

"Brenda--hand me the flashlight, and get the kid." he ordered her calmly, wincing at his new forming bruises. She got up from her knees, tossed the flashlight at him and went to go calm the shrieking Rachel. House limped over to Cuddy and got down carefully on his knee. Shining the light on her stomach with her shirt lifted, he could see the edge of the shelf readily cutting into her skin. It was already about five millimeters in, or one fourth of an inch. The cut was along her entire midriff and blood had already reached her sides approaching the carpet.

"You three--need--ghh--to get-out." she struggled badly for words.  
"I need to get this off you."  
"It's--too he-avy--your leg, it--can't--be-ar that."  
"Half of your body is being crushed. It could possibly slice you halfway through as the storm goes on."  
"I'll--be--fine. Just trust me--and, for once--could--you--plea-se listen--to me?"  
"For once, could you shut up and let me help you?" She rested her eyes and kept taking quick breaths of air. Every now and again her face would tighten in pain, he couldn't wait longer.  
Slowly standing up, he stood on the side of her and began to lift the shelf off of her. Midway raising, he shifted to stand over her to get a better angle of lifting. As soon as it was practically raised, he gave one push and it rocked back against the wall and then stood in its place. He then heard her take big gasps of air behind him. Turning around he shined the light on her face--she was smiling at him, but blood was still dripping. He knelt down again.

"Get--the kit."  
"No time." setting the flashlight down, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a thin white undershirt. He ripped a piece of the shirt, and went to the table for the bourbon. He poured a glass, returned to her side picking up the flashlight and drenched the shirt in the glass, beginning to wipe her skin clean.  
"We are--in a hospital--you--know that right?"  
"Desperate times, lead to desperate measures. No matter where you are." he said finishing off.  
"Get up, keep your shirt lifted." he ordered. And she followed.  
"Hold the flashlight," she raised it over her stomach. He then took what was left of the shirt and wrapped it around her waist.

"You think you can walk?" he asked getting up along with her. She held her stomach tightly with her arm, her face looking--almost exhausted. He looked towards the floor and could see the two small patches of blood, differing from the rest of the carpet.  
"I think--I'll be fine." she finally replied.  
"Brenda, get the stuff and get down to the morgue." he ordered her once more. She took Rachel and got out of there, heading to the safety in the morgue. They shortly followed, but slower as they went down two flights of stairs. Both of them gave constant winces as they helped each other down. Once they reached Brenda and Rachel, they both quickly sat on the floor in evident pain.  
Brenda had found large flashlights that lit up the room, enough for them to maneuver around without having to hold the flashlight. Rachel had fallen back to sleep in her arms, as House and Cuddy sat parallel to each other in a corner of the morgue. Cuddy still spoke in whispers, and now so did House.

"You look flushed." he stated.  
"I--think that happens, when you have an entire shelf fall on top of you." she said with a laugh.  
"and how would you know if I look flushed, we can barely see in here." she continued. He felt her head. It was very mildly warm.  
"Lift your shirt again." she looked surprised at him, and he lifted it anyway, feeling her back, just as warm.  
"What's wrong?" she asked.  
"It's either my hands have been spending time in a bowl of ice, or you have a fever." she could still distinguish his face, and he could still distinguish hers, one serious, one shocked.  
"You're sick." he finally stated.


	4. Paging Dr Foreman

"Fifty two weeks out of the year, you're never sick. Three-hundred sixty-five days, and you choose the one where we all have a good chance of dying to be dying even more. Very nice." They just lied together in a corner of the morgue, Cuddy lying nearly flat on the icy linoleum floor with House practically arching over her.  
"I don't recall your sarcasm being a treatment to any known disease so far. I'm pretty sure whatever I have doesn't need it either."  
"Just shut up." House glared at her as he ran his stethoscope up and down her back, and along her chest. As he did so, she tilted her head at him.  
"What."  
"You haven't done this in a while. You play doctor, I play patient. We're both normally playing doctor."  
"So you're telling me you enjoy this--this being you dying? If I didn't know any better I think I'd say you were suicidal--but that's just me. I--" he spat out with sarcasm. Cuddy just glared at him as he continued to examine her.  
"You can sit up now." as she tried to do so, she fell back in apparent pain, clasping a side of her head with her hands. She was gasping, eyes tight shut, and legs tensing, rubbing against the floor--alarming Brenda, and even House himself. She let one of her hands off her head, and groped around for House's hand on the floor. He found hers quickly, and squeezed it tight. He tried calming her down as she continued to spasm out on the floor.  
"Cuddy. Cuddy look at me. Look at me." She couldn't look at him no matter how hard she tried. Tears spilled down her face. She wanted to scream. She wanted to burn her lungs out in one booming shriek, but her body stood in protest, trapping all pain inside. She constricted his hand as her body continued tremor. He needed to get her attention. He needed her to calm down, enough for him to leave and get something to help her.  
"Calm down." still shaking, she just looked at him, practically breathless. Still keeping his eyes locked on her, he motioned Brenda over.  
"We need more than just food, I'm going back up--" Cuddy cut him off. She didn't speak, but she bit her lips with her eyes wide open.  
"We need drugs, or your brain is going to keep swelling." he switched his attention from her then back to Brenda.  
"She has a intracerebral hemorrhage(ICH). You leave her, next time you're going up for the drugs." he got up, attempting to ignore his own pain completely, and let go of her hand. Darting out of the morgue, he quickly made a round throughout the hospital gathering everything they needed.

* * *

  
"You expect to me stir up a differential with the patient that's dying, a year or so infant, and an ER nurse? I mean if you want to die we could so do that." House was setting up his laptop for a webcam conference with the team while Brenda finished off setting up the IV for Cuddy. As soon as everything was squared away, he paged Foreman again, and then he popped up on the screen. Along with not only thirteen, but with Chase and Cameron.  
"I thought I only paged Foreman?"  
"We're at Chase's house. Our car broke down, managed to push it all the way to a gas station before things got bad. Then we called them." Foreman replied.  
"So what's the 9-1-1 for, are you guys okay?" he continued.  
"We're in the morgue and your boss is dying."  
"You?"  
"Your boss' boss."  
"Cuddy?" Cameron asked from the back.  
"Yes, it's me, the kid, Brenda and Cuddy in the morgue. She presented with a fever--has ICH, with no apparent underlying cause. She's been put on corticosteroids to reduce swelling along with resectisol--go."  
"How are you so sure she has ICH?" Chase called out.  
"Every time she moves the pain increases, she was fairly close to losing consciousness and she's vomited on me," he looked at Cuddy and continued. "like mother like daughter."  
"It could be from trauma?" Chase suggested. Cuddy looked at House.  
"No. I checked for signs of trauma after--"  
"Whoa wait, something happened there? Did something collapse on you?" Foreman asked.  
"The shelf fell on her," all their eyes widened as he continued. "when the lightning struck. Cut into her abdomen, but it didn't cause trauma."  
"Her shelf? That would've sliced her in half!" Cameron yelled.  
"You'd be surprised, the boss has a rock. I guess we don't really notice cause her shirts never off--or we're too busy focusing on her fun bags."  
"Huh--right. Because _that's_ the reason why you never catch a glimpse." she spoke quietly.  
"Vasculitis? Which could be manifesting through Churg-Strauss, Wegener's--" Thirteen cut off.  
"Could also be Behçet's, Kawasaki's or without the Vasculitis, Sickle cell." Foreman called out.  
"Could be anything." Chase stated.  
"'Could be anything' isn't a diagnosis. We don't have time to test for everything. And we still need to drain out the blood in her brain."  
"Do you think you can perform surgery?" Thirteen asked.  
"Surgery is highly dangerous in a situation like this--" Chase started.  
"But it's not impossible." Foreman finished.  
"Your the surgeon, he's the neurologist. What kind of surgery." House asked.  
"I said it's not impossible, I'm not going to say you should do it."  
"You wanna save her life or do you all want to be fired?" Foreman just pursed his lips while everyone else exchanged looks. He sighed.  
"Brain catheter," he started. "depending where the bleed is, you can drill an orifice and insert it straight from there. How fast is she losing consciousness?"  
"Pretty fast doc."  
"To be sure you should get her a CT--"  
"We can't and don't have time for a CT!"  
"You have backup generators you still can! Do you want to just randomly drill a hole in her head?!?"  
"It's not random! She's showed the symptoms! The catheter is the safest thing we can do right now." Suddenly, the power began to surge over by them. Their faces were being interrupted by static.  
"House! House!" and then the link went black, and they were offline. House sighed in aggravation, and turned to Cuddy who was about to lose consciousness. He crawled back over to her and tried to wake her up.  
"Cuddy. Cuddy, come on--" and then she shut her eyes, sliding flat onto the floor. House just bowed his head.  
"What happened now?" Brenda called out.  
"She's comatose."


End file.
